


I Thought of You

by MistressPandora



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Anal Sex, As in a character reads smut, Butt Plugs, Cock Rings, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Jamie Fraser & Fergus Fraser - Freeform, Like smut-ception, M/M, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Smut, Voice Kink, While you the reader are also reading smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressPandora/pseuds/MistressPandora
Summary: It all started when Lord John sent Jamie that first French novel. Then a selection of strange curiosities, each new experiment leading Jamie to the startling realization that it's Grey he's thinking about.
Relationships: Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey
Comments: 44
Kudos: 85
Collections: Lord John Grey Cocoa and Kink 2020, Outlander Bingo Challenge





	1. Harmless Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Lord John Grey Reading Nook](https://lordjohngreyreadingnook.tumblr.com) Cocoa and Kink fic event.
> 
> This story fills my Outlander Bingo Square **That's not a dildo**.
> 
> I'm posting this in its entirety today, but it's a little long for a single chapter.

The first parcel that Jamie received from Lord John Grey had come from London. It was a novel, printed in French, with an unsigned inscription in Grey's hand. _Warm satisfaction for harmless curiosity. I hope you enjoy it as I have._

"Oh, _Milord,"_ Fergus said, a note of leering in his voice. Jamie had thought he was alone in the storeroom of his Edinburgh print shop, yet here the young man was, manifested at Jamie's elbow. "That is a rather good book. I did not think _you_ would like it though. It is an order then?"

Jamie closed the book and examined the cover. It was cloth bound in a rather subdued green, with a coordinating silk headband. A narrow volume, the typeface was simple and economical with narrow margins. It wasn't a terribly luxurious item, but it was well-made. "Nay, it was a gift. From a friend. Why would ye think I wouldnae like it?"

“No reason.” Fergus shrugged. “It is one of the great contemporary romances, but...” He picked up the paper the book had been wrapped in and read the return direction. "London? Who do you know in London? Oh, this is that Englishman you told me about, yes? With the pretty eyes?"

Glaring at Fergus— _overly observant Parisian imp_ —Jamie plucked the parchment from his meddlesome hand, folded it hastily, and stuffed it in his pocket. "Aye, the same. And I didna say they were _pretty_."

Fergus snorted. "Not aloud, no. But it has nonetheless been implied. And confirmed just now by your own admission." When Jamie looked at Fergus, sometimes all he could see was the sweet boy he had been. He saw that in him now, the endearing smile that had made Jamie forgive his attempted thievery, but also now a matured sense of humor that would have made Jamie’s sister flush with both pride and shock. For all they’d been through together, he was, after all, as much Jamie’s son as he would ever know.

And he was leering at Jamie, eyebrows waggling. 

"Do ye no' have a delivery to make? That whisky willnae smuggle itself."

" _Oui, Milord_ ," Fergus said, still grinning like an imp, and making an elaborate, thoroughly sarcastic, bow. "As you wish it, so shall it be done."

Jamie rolled his eyes, fighting to hold back his fond smile. "Get on wi' it, then." As Fergus left, Jamie deposited the book on his desk, off to the side. 

That evening, Jamie's _harmless curiosity_ got the best of him. It was one of those nights that he took his usual room in the attic of Madame Jeanne’s—alone, as always— while Fergus slept at the print shop. On a whim, he brought the novel Lord John had sent him, stuffed into his coat pocket. It was a comfortable enough room, as compared to other accommodations he’d had for most of his adult life, but Jamie often had difficulty falling asleep until a great deal of the brothel’s business had concluded, so a little light reading would at least help pass the lonely hours.

Well, he was half right, at least.

Fergus had not been exaggerating when he said it was a great contemporary romance. What the wee fiend failed to mention was that the author was terribly vague about the sex of the protagonists. Which was all well and good, he could make inferences and his French was just as fluent as it ever was. There was a kind of poetry in the prose, the blossoming passion between the two lovers was thrilling, their love utterly perfect but circumstances hopelessly dire. Jamie was so enthralled with the story, turning page after page after page, desperate to see them escape and be together, that when they finally did, he nearly wept with joy for them. How could Fergus have thought he wouldn’t like this? It was a romance novel, sure, but a good one. No wonder Grey had recommended it. He was nearly to the end, lamenting the dwindling pages, the passion and tension reaching its breaking point. 

Jamie had indulged in the odd volume of erotica now and again. Silly things, usually, given to fantasy and imagery that didn’t hold up to scrutiny. But this. _This_ was beautiful. Satisfying. More than a little arousing, he had to admit, the sounds of the brothel moaning and groaning away outside his door and through the walls of his little room a strangely appropriate addition to the effect. And if Jamie felt moved to take himself in hand as he read, who would know? Who would care? Not a soul, that’s who.

He was hard and rather enjoying himself when he came upon the twist. Surely he’d misread. 

Jamie backtracked a couple paragraphs, still lazily stroking himself— _and why not?_ He absolutely had not misread, nor mistranslated.

The heroine was a man. And what’s more, the hero—or rather, the other hero—was not surprised. Therefore the only person unaware that this truly epic romance was about two men, was Jamie himself.

He should stop. Stop reading. Stop touching himself. Stop listening to Madame Jeanne’s women at their work—though that one was rather unavoidable. But he couldn’t. He was too invested in the story to stop now and he had this cockstand to deal with, afterall. 

Jamie spilled over his own hand when the protagonists did. Harmless curiosity, indeed. Curiosity satisfied. It meant nothing. Nothing whatsoever that he’d gnashed his teeth at the mere thought that these lovers should not be so. It didn’t mean anything that Jamie had felt such joy that his eyes had burned with unshed tears when the lovers had finally embraced, safe for the first time. And it certainly indicated no more than the talent of the author that the heroes’—for lack of another word for it— _lovemaking_ had been so beautifully written and so erotically charged that it had driven Jamie to abuse himself to completion. 

And James Alexander Malcom MacKenzie Fraser had absolutely not wondered in that moment if Lord John Grey had done the same thing when he’d read this very volume. 

That had occurred in the moments immediately following his orgasm. His first coherent thought after _Oh God, yes,_ had been, _Was this what ye’d meant by “warmly,” John?_

Cleaned up and book as finished as he was, Jamie drifted off to sleep, the muffled sound of the last clients for the night coming to a similar end in the rooms below him.

* * *

_My Dear Jamie,_

_I was pleased to hear that my previous parcel found you well and that you enjoyed the contents. I have enclosed another novel for you. I confess it is not as gripping as the last volume, however there are a number of curiosities described therein which you may find of interest. I have similarly enclosed a replica of one of those curiosities. I believe you will understand when you reach that part of the book. I look forward to your thoughts on these, if you’d care to share them._

_Having recently returned to Helwater from London, I am pleased to report that my stepson is well, in answer to your inquiry. He is well on his way to becoming an accomplished rider, you may be pleased to know._

_Queen’s bishop to your King’s rook._

_Your humble servant,_

_Lord John Grey_

The second novel was also printed in French, similarly well-made. The inscription on the inner cover of this one said simply, _I thought of you._ Again unsigned, again recognizable as Grey’s hand. Flipping through the volume, Jamie noticed several engravings of a moderate quality, the ink protected by thin sheets of vellum. Accompanying the book, in a small drawstring purse, was enclosed an odd wee thing—a curiosity indeed. It was a band of some kind of leather, perhaps an inch in diameter, and Jamie had absolutely no idea what it could possibly be. Shrugging, he dropped it back into the purse and slid both it and the book into his coat pocket. 

He and Fergus had yet to acknowledge that they both now knew that the first book Lord John had sent had been a romance about two male lovers and Jamie had no intention to start discussing it now. 

Once again, Jamie found himself in his attic room, the sounds of the brothel pouring through the cracks around his door and the spaces between the floorboards, unable to sleep. He supposed Madame Jeanne would not object if he wished to purchase time with one of her ladies, were he desperate enough. But he had no interest for any of them in that regard and he thought it a bad business practice considering Madame Jeanne was one of the largest purchasers and distributors of his smuggled spirits. 

And so Jamie read, fixing his attention on the lovely French sentences and trying to ignore the sounds of men in the throes of passion and women pretending to be so. This novel was less subtle, to begin with. Or perhaps he was more prepared for the clues leading to the reveal that both lovers were men. This novel was not so much about the riveting, epic romance and more about the sex. Where the first novel had been all heart, this one was all cock—abundantly so. Still, Jamie read on, curious. Intrigued. Actually taking the time to look at the engravings, to appreciate the artistic quality, though it was somewhat crude. Wondering when the hell that loop of leather would make its appearance and explain itself.

He hadn’t really looked at the engravings before when he’d first flipped through the book, but now that he did, he found them to be rather graphic, fascinating pieces. They depicted men in various poses of debauchery. Some of them were rather inspired, Jamie had to admit, and he bent close to the lamplight to get a better look. 

_I thought of you_.

What the devil could that have meant? What about him had John thought? When? Why? To what end?

About halfway through the book, he found it. Jamie found the purpose of the leather ring. In the story, one of the heroes slid something similar over his half-hard cock. It was summer and Jamie occasionally slept naked when it was convenient to do so, as it was that evening. He looked down, assessing his own situation. Well, he wasn’t a sodomite—he cringed inwardly, recalling Lord John's apparent exception to the word—but nor was he dead. There was some sign of life down there but not much of a cockstand as of yet. Shrugging, he retrieved the leather ring from the velvet purse and slid it over his cock. Nothing immediately spectacular happened, but he left the thing on and went back to the book, tugging himself absently. 

It took a few pages, but Jamie eventually realized that he’d grown fully hard. Somewhat more than fully hard, he thought. It _looked_ bigger anyway. It may have been no more than his imagination, fueled by the erotic scene he was reading perhaps, but Jamie thought his own touch felt better. More intense, was that the word for it? As if his cock was more sensitive on account of that leather band, now quite constricting. Biting back a moan, Jamie laid the book face down on the bed next to him and rolled over, rutting against the mattress as if he'd never known self control or celibacy in all his life.

_I thought of you_.

Jamie bit his pillow to stifle his groan, spilling himself onto the bed sheet, thrusting against the growing puddle of his own warm seed. He had nothing left in him to spill, but the sensation was incredible, sending bursts of tingling pleasure over his entire body, and he kept going. He rutted and writhed, the sheet thrown off him, whimpering into his pillow. 

_I thought of you_. 

Could Lord John have thought of _this?_ Could this be what he meant? Might John have been in a similar position, possibly using one of these leather rings? Possibly _this_ one?

"Oh, _God,_ " Jamie gasped. He stroked his cock until until it ached and began to go soft again. He slid the leather band off and wiped it clean with the sheet, dropping it on top of its velvet purse on the nightstand. For a long while he lay on his back, panting, chest heaving, muscles randomly twitching. Then he picked up the book again, resumed his place, and kept reading through the end. 


	2. I Thought of You

_My Dear Jamie,_

_I trust this letter and parcel find you in continued good health and spirits. My stepson has just this morning asked that, should I be in correspondence with his beloved ‘Mac,’ I pass along his regards._

_Your question was indeed not too forward nor inappropriate, all else being equal. And in answer, yes, I have in the past made use of a similar contraption. My experience was much the same as your account, and I am pleased to report that my partner was quite enthusiastic about the results from his perspective on the matter._

_Enclosed you will find another curiosity. You may have seen similar devices, being yourself a well-traveled man of the world. Accompanying this is a small bottle of oil. The proceeding pages of this letter may inspire you to make use of the item for your own entertainment. I do recommend that you apply a good deal of the oil first, however, to avoid potentially serious discomfort._

_King’s knight captures your queen. I believe that is check._

_Your friend,_

_Lord John Grey_

The last two pages were indeed vivid instructions, illustrated in explicit detail and with a great degree of realism, depicting a man pleasuring himself with what appeared to be a dildo in his arse. At least, the illustrated man _appeared_ to be enjoying it, if his proud cock—Christ, its size surely had to be exaggerated—was any indication. 

Lord John had wrapped the “curiosity” in a few layers of canvas, the object itself made of gleaming, well-polished marble. Jamie had certainly seen larger artificial phalluses, particularly in Paris. This one was modest, perhaps the same girth as two fingers held together, and possessing a curved handle at the base. The oil was well-packed in a small crate of straw and undamaged. He popped the cork and gave it a cautious sniff. It was a light, pleasant aroma, and Jamie made a little hum of appreciation.

 _“Milord_ , I have finished—”

Panicking and trying very much not to look like he was panicking, Jamie stuffed both the dildo and the oil in the crate and slammed the lid on top as Fergus came around the corner. “Aye? Finished the what? Out wi’ it, _mon fils._ ”

Fergus furrowed his dark brow, immediately suspicious. “Taking inventory of the latest load. We are over one cask of brandy, but I took care of it. What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Cask of brandy?”

 _“Oui_. But as I said, it has been handled. Not to worry.” Fergus glanced pointedly at the crate and a slow grin spread across his face.

Jamie looked down. The goddamn dildo was too long for the goddamn box and the very distinctly-shaped head of the thing protruded from the askew lid, peering directly up at Fergus. “Ah. This is… um.”

Fergus, the wee imp, looked on the verge of laughter as he nudged the lid aside and—much to Jamie’s abject horror—removed the phallus from the crate. At least he had the common decency to hold it by the handle. He examined the dildo critically, then peered back in the crate, noted the bottle of oil and nodded, apparently to himself. Still holding the dildo just in the wide open between them, Fergus shifted his attention to Jamie, who struggled to keep an iron grip on his composure. “You have used one of these before?”

“Of course not!” Jamie sputtered. 

“But you are wanting to?”

Jamie crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at Fergus. How could this conversation be happening? Where had he gone wrong? Other than everywhere since he opened that first novel. “I most certainly am not.” 

“Then why did you order one?” Fergus lowered the phallus but still held it in his hand. “Are we to sell such things from the print shop as well? If so, I think we may encounter some objections.”

Jamie snatched the dildo from Fergus’s hand with a glower. “If ye must ken, ye meddlesome fiend, ‘twas sent to me by a friend. _Not_ at my request.”

Fergus’s dark brows shot up, his eyes wide in alarm. “You are going to challenge him to a duel then?”

Now there was an idea. Challenge Lord John to a duel. Swords, of course. They were more evenly matched than Jamie cared to admit. The two of them, locked in sweaty combat, close enough that Jamie would be able to feel John’s labored breath on his skin. Neither of them would truly wish to injure the other, of course. Grey would likely yield at first blood, if Jamie gave him the chance. He’d be reluctant to do it of course, but Jamie would have him on his knees in front of him, his sword at John’s throat.

Jamie’s breeches were becoming uncomfortably tight and he cleared his throat. “Nay, it’s no’ like that.” He managed to find an angle that the phallus fit into the crate and slid the lid back into place. “Let it go, Fergus. Aye?”

Fergus held up his hand in surrender. "Alright, _Milord_ , as you say." He dropped his hands to his sides again and all the teasing and mischief was gone from his expression, leaving only compassion in his kind, dark eyes. "For what it is worth, I do not think you have anything to be ashamed of." Fergus glanced down at the envelope on the table between them, likely noting the return direction. "I have seen the way you speak of this Englishman, and you do so more than you realize, I think. I have seen the look in your eye when you receive his letters. And I know that you keep them all in a particular place in your writing desk. I have not read them, of course, but I have seen them. You also keep Mistress Jenny’s letters and I thought nothing of it.”

Jamie stiffened, his jaw tight. “What are ye saying?”

“Only…” Fergus sighed, a frown drawing his lips down. “Only that I hope you don’t martyr yourself out of something good. I think God has far more important things to worry about than who is in your bed and what you do with them.”

“That’s a verra French bit of advice,” Jamie said, for lack of anything better to say.

Fergus grinned. _“Oui, Milord._ It is. Perhaps a bit of French advice would do you some good, hmm?” He laid his one hand on Jamie’s shoulder then, and for a moment, Jamie lost sight of the wee lad he’d been and saw only the man before him. Wise beyond his years with a past full of experiences no one so young should have to draw upon. “You do not need to hide such things from me.”

And then he was gone before Jamie could thank him for his kind words or throw them back in his face or deny every assumption Fergus clearly had but did not specifically voice.

Concerned, perhaps irrationally, that the box and its contents would be spotted by prying eyes in the print shop, Jamie took it with him that evening to his room at Madame Jeanne’s. He deposited it on the little table and resolved not to consider it again. It was later than Jamie normally arrived at the brothel and the evening’s business was in full swing, but he paid the noise no attention. He removed his boots and hung up his coat, stretching out on his stomach atop of the quilt in his shirtsleeves and breeches. He’d brought with him the first novel John had sent, the enthralling French romance, and resolved to read it again, though he expected it would be less impactful now that he knew both the end and that both lovers were men. But still, it was a good story, well-written, and settling into the first pages felt a little like coming home.

The second time through, it seemed so obvious to Jamie that this was a story about two men that he couldn't believe he'd missed it before. There were clues everywhere, little quirks and suggestions. How could he have ever assumed this was a woman? This time, Jamie reread his favorite passages over and over, relishing every word without worrying about what was to come next.

His room was quite warm, so when he reached the end of a chapter he stripped off the rest of his clothes and opened the narrow window to let some air in. Lying down again, on his back this time, he returned to the book, the ghost of a breeze whispering pleasantly over his bare chest. 

The novel was just as gripping and moving as the first time he read it, the passion just as visceral, the stolen kisses between the heroes just as moving. At some point he'd absently taken himself in hand, realizing it only when he thought it would feel better with a bit of saliva or something to slick the way. Then his eyes fell on the wee crate and he paused, left hand still wrapped around his cockstand. 

And so what if he did get up to retrieve the box? What did it matter if he removed the bottle of oil and left the phallus nestled in the bed of straw, on the edge of the nightstand? It didn’t take much of the stuff. It warmed easily in his hand and when Jamie took hold of himself again he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself moaning like he wasn’t alone in the attic. He went back to reading, stroking himself absently with his slippery hand. His mind wandered though, thinking of John's letters, of the inscriptions in the novels he'd sent. 

Balancing the book awkwardly against his chest, Jamie flipped to the front of the book and just stared at the handwritten words there. _Warm satisfaction for harmless curiosity. I hope you enjoy it as I have._ John had written that, the lovely curve to the letters, the odd little flip and cross to the tail of the _S_ that gave it away as his hand. John had read this book, held it, enjoyed it. Had he done _this?_ Had John brought himself to trembling completion while absorbed in the story? 

_I thought of you_.

Oh, God. 

Jamie set the book aside, left open as if John could watch him through the ink. As if it could conjure the man into his room, into his bed. Oh, _God_ , he did want Lord John in his bed. Jamie cupped his balls with his right hand, one finger brushing over his entrance, and he stopped. He'd never thought of his arse with that term before, but that was what the French erotica had called it, more or less. The littlest finger of Jamie's left hand was slick with oil and he carefully, slowly slid it inside himself, just the tip to start, then to the second knuckle. He tensed at first, but found that if he relaxed it wasn't too bad. It was actually something approaching… enjoyable.

He eyed the little crate barely a foot from his pillow, then cast a glance at the open book and John's inscription. "Aye then, and why not?" he muttered, reaching for the crate. Jamie applied a great deal of oil to the phallus and after a little fumbling between his legs and two or three steadying breaths, he eased it in. The marble was cool in contrast to his own internal heat and Jamie gasped. It slid into him easily, his body stretching to accommodate the intrusion without any pain. And when Jamie returned his slick hand to his cock again, no force on earth could have compelled his silence. 

_I hope you enjoy it as I have_.

Oh, holy mother of _God,_ but it felt good. How could he have gone his entire life never having tried this before? 

_I thought of you_.

Jamie let his eyes fall closed and if he concentrated hard enough, it was John's cock thrusting in and out of him. John's hand stroking him furiously. John making him sweat and tremble and moan. 

But John's cock would be bigger around than the dildo, surely. Jamie could take it, he thought. He imagined what it would feel like, to have John over him or behind him, nothing but the mad collision of naked flesh, slick with sweat. To be split in two on John's cock until they both cried out in ecstasy. 

"Oh, God," Jamie gasped, groaning. To feel John's lips on his again. Perhaps to taste his tongue this time. "Oh, God. _John."_ He pushed the phallus deep inside himself, as far as it would go, wishing it was John. His seed poured out of him, spurting over his hand, thick and warm. He gasped and shook and squeezed his cock until there was nothing left. Pulling out the dildo left Jamie feeling empty and alone, and despite the heat of the room, he wrapped the sheet around his shoulders, just to have something touching him. 

Closing the book, Jamie clutched it to his chest and fell asleep to the scent of paper and ink and oil and his own seed.

* * *

_My Dear Jamie,_

_I told you once that I shall probably want you until the day I die. As of the hour of this letter's posting, I am still alive and of the same mind. Please expect my arrival no more than three days after your receipt of this._

_The enclosed items function on a similar principle to the last curiosity I sent you, with the exception that these are meant to be worn in place for a time. I would caution against sleeping with them, however it would bring me great pleasure to find you making use of the largest of the three upon my arrival._

_I confess that, due in no small part to the contents of your letter, I have quite lost track of the condition of our chess game and therefore forfeit. Well done._

_My warmest regards,_

_John_

Jamie didn't even flinch when Fergus appeared behind him. "Another gift from your English admirer?"

"Aye." Jamie didn't bother to explain that Lord John was perhaps a bit more than an admirer. This parcel was packed in several layers of cloth and upon unwrapping it revealed three objects, the likes of which he'd never seen before. They were made of thick glass, rather cone-shaped with a blunt narrow end and a wide, flared base. "I've never seen dildos like this before though."

Fergus peered over his shoulder and his dark eyes went wide. "Oh, these are not dildos, _Milord._ I do not know what they are called but I can show you. Make this shape with your hand." He held his right hand up and curled his fingers and thumb, making a loose, open fist. Jamie mimicked him, and Fergus picked up one of the objects and inserted it into Jamie’s waiting hand so that the flared end caught on his fingers. Then Fergus pinched Jamie’s thumb and index finger tighter around the device. “Just so. You see?”

By some miracle, Jamie managed not to blush as he studied the thing in his hand, letting all the pieces fall into place in his mind. “So then, one would start wi’ the smaller one and use a progressively larger size?”

Fergus nodded. _“Oui,_ that is my understanding. What is wrong, _Milord?”_

The question made Jamie realize he was frowning, and he put the _curiosity_ back in its bundle. He shook his head like a horse tossing off a fly. “Nothing, _mon fils_ , I’m alright.”

Concern crossed Fergus’s face. “If you do not wish to use them, I am sure your Englishman would understand.”

“Nay, it’s no’ that.” The thought had never crossed Jamie’s mind that Lord John would be upset if this wasn’t to his liking. That wasn’t in his nature. “It’s only…” He tapped the side of his thigh with the stiff fingers of his right hand. “He’s coming to Edinburgh in three days. To see me.”

“I do not think I understand. Do you not want to see him?”

“I do. But I’ve just realized I havenae wanted someone so since…” Jamie trailed off, unable to drag up painful memories for either of them.

“Since we lost _Milady_.” Of course Fergus understood, and of course he was unafraid to speak of her.

Jamie nodded, suddenly not trusting his voice.

Fergus gave him a soft smile, the expression heartbreakingly youthful and kind. “I miss her too, _Milord_ , every day. But I do not believe that she would want you to be lonely now. Do you?”

“No,” Jamie agreed, managing a wistful kind of smile of his own. “No, ye’re right.”

“I know I’m right.” Fergus raised one, dark eyebrow, doing a terrible job suppressing a smirk. Honest to God, the man was practically leering at Jamie. “I would be happy to watch the shop for a few minutes.” He cast a pointed glance at the bundle of mysterious objects. “If you need to… _excuse_ yourself?”


	3. In This Room

As John had requested, Jamie indeed made use of the strange objects. The first two days, he’d managed to place them with minimal difficulty. Once the odd feeling of exposure had worn off on the first afternoon, it had been exciting to go about his day constantly penetrated. To be able to conduct his business and flex the right muscles to make the cone twitch inside of him sent a thrilling wave of pleasure through him. 

On the third day, Jamie awoke hard and wanting. The final in the series of three objects was considerably larger than the second, and Jamie had to work himself loose with the dildo first. No great sacrifice there. It only took a few minutes of fucking himself with the phallus to get nice and open and worked up to a mad frenzy. Gasping and trembling, he pushed that large thing into his arse, feeling immediately stretched to the limit and decadently full. A few rough tugs on his cock and he came, groaning John’s name into his pillow. The next time he did that, he thought, John would hear it. It would be John filling him. 

That third day passed slowly, excruciatingly so. Jamie felt the need to clench his arse whenever he stood or walked—which was most of the day—to keep from dropping the object just because of the greater weight of it. 

Each time Jamie passed a window, he checked the sun. On the off-chance that he noticed a clock, he read it, then checked it against the sun. It was possible that Lord John wouldn’t make it to Edinburgh today, but that was a distressing thought. By four in the afternoon, Jamie’s nerves were frayed from anticipation and desire, constantly on edge and threatening to tumble off it at a moment’s notice.

The sky turned orange and began its descent toward pink when Jamie gave up and left the print shop. His hand shook as he tried over and over again to get his key in the lock. Finally successful, he made his way down the stairs to the evening foot traffic of Carfax Close.

“Hello, Jamie.”

Jamie froze in his tracks, gripping the iron railing to keep from falling down the last few steps.

Lord John Grey stood at the bottom of the stairs, impeccable in a gray suit and riding boots. His tricorn cast a sliver of dark shadow over his face, and not a visible hair out of place. The sight of him took Jamie's breath away and left him reeling. 

"John," Jamie said. His hands twitched, the urge to rush to him, to embrace him—kiss him—threatening to overtake his sense of decorum. Perhaps his feelings for John weren't anything to be ashamed of, but acting out those feelings in the street in plain view of half of Edinburgh was madness.

Grey smiled and the sun could have never risen again and no one would ever notice. The bright beauty of creation was in that smile and Jamie never wanted to be anywhere but the glow of it ever again. "I hope I interpreted your last letter correctly." John faltered and Jamie wanted to kiss him until the smile came back. "It seemed as if you wished to see me, but I—"

"Have ye had yer supper yet?" Jamie wasn't remotely hungry. Well, not for food. The object penetrating him shifted and he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, biting down on the inside of his cheek to keep from whimpering. Christ, he might die if he didn't get to touch John in the immediate future, but he could see to the man's comfort first. 

"I actually don't believe I could eat just now either way, " John replied with a nervous laugh. "But I would gladly accompany you if…"

Jamie shook his head. "The truth of it is, I cannae stand these pleasantries anymore. I did… I did as ye said." It was so much simpler to discuss such matters of the flesh through their letters. Now that John was standing before him, Jamie's cheeks burned. And why should he be embarrassed, after all? This was John. There was no reason for secrets between them, no reason to pretend they didn't both want this. 

The smile came back to John's face, spreading slowly and full of a kind of excitement as he looked Jamie up and down. "And you found it… agreeable?"

"Oh, God, aye." Jamie cast a quick glance around but no one was paying them any attention. "It may be best if we get off the street. I have a place we can go. It's no' exactly the blue room at Helwater, but it is discreet."

"That sounds perfect."

They weren't three steps into Madame Jeanne’s before two women approached John to offer their services. Lord John waved them off as politely as he could, but they were persistent. Jamie caught the attention of the madame, who came to their rescue.

"Ladies, Mr. Malcolm clearly has business to attend to," Madame Jeanne said, ushering the women away. "Perhaps you'll still be available when the gentleman is no longer engaged." She glanced at Jamie's hand on John’s arm. A knowing twinkle lit in her eyes and she disguised a smirk, but not fast enough. Jamie saw it. "Or perhaps their services will not be required. You are fortunate that your Fergus made me an excellent offer on an extra cask of brandy recently. I am in a charitable mood." The smirk vanished and Madame Jeanne angled a finger at Jamie's nose. "But I'm still charging you extra for the double occupancy."

 _"Merci,"_ Jamie said with a nod and led John upstairs. He bolted the door behind them and for a long moment, he and John just stared at each other. Jamie cut his eyes briefly to the bed then back to John, who followed his gaze. Their eyes met again and Jamie's wame flipped, his heart pounding and mouth gone dry. 

"Can I see it?" John asked, taking a slow, cautious step closer to Jamie and setting his tricorn on the table. 

“Aye.” Jamie nodded and started to remove his coat. 

“Wait,” John said, holding up a hand and letting it hover between them. Jamie froze with his arms halfway out of his sleeves. “Let me?”

Jamie let go of the coat and relaxed his arms. “If ye’d like.”

John took over, every move deliberate and gentle, sliding Jamie's coat off his arms with the whisper of fabric and the pounding of Jamie's heart in his ears. John’s hands came up to the top button of Jamie’s waistcoat and he paused, licking his lips. Jamie thought he saw John’s fingers twitch. And then John laid his palms on Jamie’s chest and let out a shaky breath. “Oh God, Jamie.”

That was it, that was all it took. Jamie grabbed John around the waist and yanked him hard against him, their mouths colliding in a mad, passionate kiss. All hesitance, nervousness, awkward tip-toeing around this thing that had sprouted up between them, gone up in smoke. They both gave in, John’s fists clenched in the fabric of Jamie’s waistcoat, Jamie’s arms around him, crushing him close. The sounds of the brothel’s business starting up for the night were distant, irrelevant. Their world spun wild and out of control, off its axis. Jamie got drunk off the sounds John made, on the thrill of kissing him until his lips tingled. Every breath was a stolen gasp, and Jamie’s head swam. 

John drove him back, shoving him against the locked door, taking advantage of Jamie’s temporary immobility to press his body against him. One long line of rapturous contact, his hard cock jabbing into Jamie’s hip, and _Holy mother of God,_ Jamie desperately wanted John naked and on top of him. 

The buttons of John’s waistcoat were unaccountably challenging. John himself seemed to be having a better time with Jamie’s clothes. “Do you know,” John said against Jamie’s lips, breaking the kiss only long enough to get the words out. “How many times I’ve touched myself and thought of you in the past two months alone?” They pulled apart long enough to drag their shirts off and then it was bare flesh against gloriously bare flesh. "And every—" _kiss—_ "single—" _kiss—_ "time." John knelt then, skimmed his hands down the length of Jamie's body and went to work on Jamie's shoes. If he just leaned forward, he'd be able to mouth over the hard bulge in Jamie's breeches. "Every time, I wondered if you thought of me too."

"I did," Jamie answered. It was a frightening admission but then John grinned up at him and he couldn't recall ever feeling so relieved. 

"Tell me." John stood back up and steered Jamie toward the bed. "Was it here? In this room?" 

Crowding into Jamie's space and pushing against his shoulders, he urged Jamie to sit on the mattress. It pushed the object deeper into him and Jamie gasped and moaned.

John’s grin was all but feral, eyes wide with excited desire. “In this bed?” He pushed Jamie onto his back and straddled just one of his thighs, his knee pressing into Jamie’s groin, applying pressure from the inside out. His open mouth hovered a hairsbreadth over Jamie’s, his breath hot on Jamie’s lips.

“Aye, it was,” Jamie gasped. “ _John_ , oh God.”

A shiver ran through Lord John and he growled. “I’m going to make you say that again—” He kissed Jamie, licking into his mouth and gone too soon. “And again.” He stroked the length of Jamie’s cock through his breeches and by some miracle of self control Jamie managed not to embarrass himself then and there. 

So many things. So many things that Jamie wanted to say, to do, to touch. But Grey was unbuttoning his flies and all he could manage was, “Weeks. I’ve been mad with wanting ye for weeks.” 

John tugged Jamie's breeches down and tossed them aside, taking in the sight of him with naked hunger in his eyes. With only a heartbeat of anxious hesitation, Jamie spread his legs so John could see the secret he'd carried around with him all day. "Dear God in Heaven," John gasped, laying reverent hands high up Jamie's inner thighs. "I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life."

The urge to beg was powerful and every other exhale came out a whimper or a whine. And then John touched the wide, flat base of the thing, just a feather light brush of his fingertips. Maybe it was Jamie’s imagination, but he felt that touch absolutely everywhere, a wave of pleasure that left gooseflesh in its wake. 

“Absolutely exquisite,” John whispered as if to himself. He got off the bed and shoved down his own breeches. Jamie didn’t exactly possess an extensive mental catalog of other men’s cocks for a comparison, but he thought John’s was rather on the handsome side. Thick, curving gently upward. John crawled back onto the bed between Jamie’s legs, letting his hands lead the way up his thighs. 

“I had these made for you.” John took hold of the object, jarring it and moving it around inside of him. Jamie gasped as he pulled it out. “To very intentional specifications. Oil?”

It didn’t initially register in Jamie’s mind what John was asking, but he worked it out and fumbled into the little wooden box for the oil John had sent him. “What specifications?”

Taking note of the diminished amount of oil in the bottle, John smirked as he drizzled some into his palm. “They were designed so that the largest of the three is almost as big around as me.” John slicked up that beautiful cock of his and lifted Jamie’s hips, looming over him. The sun had set at last and the candlelight fell over John’s bare skin in shades of amber and gold. “So that when we finally arrived at this moment, I wouldn’t have to wait to do this.” In one fluid motion, he slid inside Jamie and they both gasped and groaned. 

The stretch was delightful, and even better was the knowledge that it was _John_ filling him so, covering Jamie’s body with his. John kissing him, John fucking him gently into the mattress, John claiming him in so many ways. Jamie wrapped his arms around him, relishing the feel of John's strong, naked back under his hands. "Oh, God. John."

"That's the spirit." John's sun-bright smile was back and it filled Jamie with such unbridled joy he could have combusted. 

"Harder," Jamie said into John's mouth. "I willnae break. Fuck me like ye mean it."

"Sweet Jesus, Jamie. I've never meant anything as much as I mean this." John did as he asked, thrusting hard into him and jarring Jamie's bones. The bedstead banged into the wall over and over, the similar sounds echoing through the brothel drowning under their own racket. Nothing existed any longer outside of John and Jamie and the passion between them. "I won't last."

"Give me yer hand and neither will I." Jamie could have taken himself in hand, of course. But then he would have had to stop touching John and that sounded like a terrible idea. Besides, John’s hand was warm, his palm smooth and still a little slick with oil. “John, _oh_ —” The rest of his sentence died with John’s tongue in his mouth, Jamie’s seed warm and sudden between them and all Jamie could do was cling to John for dear life. 

John buried his face in the bend of Jamie’s neck, murmuring and moaning his name over and over again, his body tight and trembling. Then he went still, both of them adrift in the sound of their panting breaths, the smell of sweat and seed. John pressed slow, lingering kisses to Jamie’s throat, chest, jaw, lips. At last he eased himself out, but otherwise kept his place on top of Jamie, his eyes searching Jamie’s expression, seeming to peer straight through to his core. “Are you alright?” He smoothed the hair back from Jamie’s face with one hand.

No, absolutely not. Everything was upside down and backwards, and yet… And yet everything was so very far beyond _alright._ Jamie opened his mouth to answer, but the business sounds of the brothel returned to his awareness and he couldn’t help but think that theirs was the only room where the passion was real, the pleasure genuine. Something that felt very much like _love_ passed between them and all Jamie could say was, “Aye. I’m fine.” A frown threatened to overshadow John’s expression of blissful satisfaction, and Jamie ran his thumb over John’s forehead, silently urging him to relax his face. “Tell me what’s going on in there.” He gently tapped the space between John’s eyebrows by way of illustration.

John drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose. “You have no idea how long I’ve imagined this. How many lonely nights I’ve dreamed of being here, warm in your bed, in your arms. And I long ago made my peace that it would never be more than fantasy. But now that it’s happened, now that it’s real…” His eyes went watery for a moment, but then John swallowed hard and they cleared again. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to go back to the place where I can’t touch you.”

“Och, weel,” Jamie said, tangling their legs together. “In that case, I reckon you should get back into your habit of quarterly visits. So I can see to yer welfare, ken.”

For a moment Jamie thought perhaps he’d forgotten to actually speak the words, because Grey just stared down at him for a time. Then a slow smile crept across his face and the sun came out again. “I reckon you’re right.” John slid off Jamie, curled into his side and wrapped his arms around his waist. He let out a happy sigh, his breath tickling the hair on Jamie’s chest. “I don’t suppose you’ve got anything within arm’s reach to read, have you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Jamie dug under his pillow with one hand and came back with that first novel that John had sent him. “Would ye like to hear it in French or in English?”

John hummed, the tone of it rather erotic and exciting. “Oh dear Lord, please read it in French. I hope you won’t be offended if I become aroused again and start rutting against your leg.” By way of illustration, he squeezed Jamie’s leg with his strong thighs and rolled his hips.

“Nay, but if ye do that then I’ll have to stop reading so we can have another go.”

“Then you had best start reading so we can get to that part faster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were curious about what sort of sex toys existed in the 18th century, I've spent an inordinate amount of time looking into it. Dildos have been around about as long as people have. In the 18th century they were typically rather large and made of either polished wood or stuffed leather (which sounds so uncomfortable), though more expensive ones carved from stone were apparently also available. And yes, the word "dildo" did exist, coined circa the 15th century. 
> 
> Cock rings first came about [circa 1200 in China](https://www.mcastleman.com/history-of-sex-toys/), made from the eyelid of a goat with the eyelashes left intact. Personally I found that last detail made me a bit squeamish so I kept the leather and opted not to give Jamie's peen the fringe. 
> 
> Interestingly, [the first appearance](https://allthatsinteresting.com/history-of-sex-toys) of what we call butt plugs were made from jade and discovered in wealthy burial chambers from the Han Dynasty in China. These were apparently not sex toys though and were to keep the deceased's chi from leaving the body. Modern butt plugs didn't actually appear until the very late 19th century. They were called ["rectal dilators"](https://medium.com/dose/the-dark-twisted-history-of-the-butt-plug-e24193debc97) and marketed as a medical device with a variety of astounding applications. I took some artistic liberties in this regard, obviously, but that's why the term "butt plug" doesn't appear in the story.
> 
> All of this research has left me with a deep appreciation of both incognito browsing and silicone.


End file.
